THE SECOND OFFENSE
Bill Howland emerged from the six-by-six office of the F. S. and S. Stage
Company and strolled down the street to where his Concord stood. He
hitched up and, after examining the harness, gained his seat, gathered up
the lines and yelled. There was a lurch and a rumble, and Bill turned
the corner on two wheels to the gratification of sundry stray dogs,
whose gratification turned to yelps of surprise and pain as the driver
neatly flecked bits of hair from their bodies with his sixteen foot
"blacksnake." Twice each week Bill drove his Concord around the same
corner on the same two wheels and flecked bits of hair from stray dogs
with the same whip. He would have been deeply grieved if the supply of new
stray dogs gave out, for no dogs were ever known to get close enough
to be skinned the second time; once was enough, and those which had felt
the sting of Bill's leather were content to stand across the street and
create the necessary excitement to urge the new arrivals forward. The
local wit is reported as saying: "Dogs may come and dogs may go, but Bill
goes on forever," which saying pleased Bill greatly.
As he threw the mail bag on the seat the sheriff came up and watched him,
his eyes a-twinkle with humor.
"Well, Sheriff, how's the boy?" genially asked Bill, who could talk all
day on anything and two days on nothing without fatigue.
"All right, Bill, thank you," the sheriff replied. "I hope you are able
to take something more than liquid nourishment," he added.
"Oh, you trust me for that, Sheriff. When my appetite gives out I'll be
ready to plant. I see your ear is some smaller. Blamed funny how they do
swell sometimes," remarked the driver, loosening his collar.
The sheriff knew what that action meant and hurried to break the thread
of the conversation.
"New wheel?" he asked, eying what he knew to be old.
"Nope, painted, that's all," the driver replied, grinning. "But she
shore does look new, don't she? You see, Dick put in two new spokes
yesterday, and when I saw 'em I says, says I, 'Dick, that new wheel don't
look good thataway,' says I. 'It'll look like a limp, them new spokes
coming 'round all alone like,' says I. So we paints it, but we didn't
have time to paint the others, but they won't make much difference,
anyhow. Funny how a little paint will change things, now ain't it? Why, I
can remember when-----"
"Much mail nowadays?" interposed the sheriff calmly.
"Nope. Folks out here ain't a-helpin' Uncle Sam much. Postmaster says he
only sold ten stamps this week. What he wants, as I told him, is women.
Then everybody'll be sendin' letters and presents and things. Now, I knows
what I'm talking about, because-----"
"The Apaches are out," jabbed the sheriff, hopefully.
"Yes, I heard that you had a soiree with them. But they won't get so
far north as this. No, siree, they won't. They knows too much, Apaches
do. Ain't they smart cusses, though? Now, there's old Geronimo--been
raising the devil for years. The cavalry goes out for him regular, and
shore thinks he's caught, but he ain't. When he's found he's home smoking
his pipe and counting his wives, which are shore numerous, they say. Now,
I've got a bully scheme for getting him, Sheriff----"
"Hey, you," came from the office. "Do you reckon that train is going to
tie up and wait for you, hey? Do you think you are so d----d important
that they won't pull out unless you're on hand? Why in h--l don't you quit
chinning and get started?"
"Oh, you choke up!" cried Bill, clambering up to his seat. "Who's running
this, anyhow!" he grumbled under his breath. Then he took up the reins
and carefully sorted them, after which he looked down at Shields, whose
face wore a smile of amusement.
"Bill Howland ain't none a-scared because a lot of calamity howlers get a
hunch. Not on your life! I've reached the high C of rollicking progress
too many times to be airy scairt at rumors. Show me the feather-dusters
in war paint, and then I'll take some stock in raids. You get up a bet
on me Sheriff, make a little easy money. Back Bill Howland to be right
here in seventy-two hours, right side up and smiling, and you'll win. You
just bet you'll----"
"Well, you won't get here in a year unless you starts, you pest! For
God's sake get a-going and give the sheriff a rest!" came explosively
from the office, accompanied by a sound as if a chair had dropped to its
four legs. A tall, angular man stood in the doorway and shook his fist at
the huge cloud of dust which rolled down the street, muttering savagely.
Bill Howland had started on his eighty-mile trip to Sagetown.
"Damnedest talker on two laigs," asserted the clerk. "He'll drive me loco
some day with his eternal jabber, jabber. Why do you waste time with
him? Tell him to close his yap and go to h--l. Beat him over the head,
anything to shut him up!"
Shields smiled: "Oh, he can't help it. He don't do anybody any harm."
The clerk shook his head in doubt and started to return to his chair, and
then stopped.
"I hear you expect some women out purty soon," he suggested.
"Yes. Sisters and a friend," Shields replied shortly.
"Ain't you a little leary about letting 'em come out here while the
Apaches are out?"
"Not very much--I'll be on hand when they arrive," the sheriff assured him.
"How soon are they due to land?"
"Next trip if nothing hinders them."
"Jim Hawes is comin' out next trip," volunteered the clerk.
"Good," responded the sheriff, turning to go. "Every gun counts, and Jim
is a good man."
"Say," the agent was lonesome, "I heard down at the Oasis last night that
The Orphant was seen out near the Cross Bar-8 yesterday. He ought to get
shot, d----n him! But that's a purty big contract, I reckon. They say he
can shoot like the very devil."
"They're right, he can," Shields replied. "Everybody knows that."
"Charley seems to be in a hurry," remarked the agent, looking down the
street at a cowboy, a friend of the sheriff, who was coming at a dead
gallop. The sheriff looked and Charley waved his arm. As he came within
hailing distance he shouted:
"The Orphan killed Jimmy Ford this morning on Twenty Mile Trail! His
pardner got away by shootin' The Orphan's horse and taking to the trail
through Little Arroyo. But he's shot, just the same, 'though not bad. The
rest of the Cross Bar-8 outfit are going out for him; they've been out,
but they can't follow his trail."
"Hell!" cried the sheriff, running toward his corral. "Wait!" he shouted
over his shoulder as he turned the corner. In less than five minutes he
was back again, and on his best horse, and following the impatient cowboy,
swung down the street at a gallop in the direction of Twenty Mile Trail.
As they left the town behind and swung through the arroyo leading to the
Limping Water, through which the stage route lay, Charley began to speak
again:
"Jimmy and Pete Carson were taking a rest in the shade of the chaparral
and playin' old sledge, when they looked up and saw The Orphan looking
down at them. They're rather easy-going, and so they asked him to take a
hand. He said he would, and got off his cayuse and sat down with them.
Jimmy started a new deal, but The Orphan objected to old sledge and
wanted poker, at the same time throwing a bag of dust down in front of
him. Jimmy looked at Pete, who nodded, and put his wealth in front of
him. Well, they played along for a while, and The Orphan began to have
great luck. When he had won five straight jack pots it was more than
Jimmy could stand, him being young and hasty. He saw his new Cheyenne
saddle, what he was going to buy, getting further away all the time, and
he yelled 'Cheat!' grabbing for his gun, what was plumb crazy for him to
do.
"The Orphan fired from his hip quick as a wink, and Jimmy fell back just
as Pete drew. The Orphan swung on him and ordered him to drop his gun,
which same Pete did, being sick at the stomach at Jimmy's passing. Then
The Orphan told him to take his dirty money and his cheap life and go back
to his mamma. Pete didn't stop none to argue, but mounted and rode away.
But the fool wasn't satisfied at having a whole skin after a run-in
with The Orphan, and when he got off about four hundred yards and right
on the edge of Little Arroyo, where he could get cover in one jump,
he up and let drive, killing The Orphan's horse. Pete got two holes in
his shoulder before he could get out of sight, and he remembered that
his shot had hardly left his gun before he had 'em, too. Pete says he
wonders how in h--l The Orphan could shoot twice so quick, when his
gun's a Sharp's single shot."
Shields was pleased with the knowledge that it was not a plain murder
this time, and fell to wondering if the other killings in which The
Orphan had figured had not in a measure been justified. Hearsay cried
"Murderer," but his own personal experience denied the term. Did not
The Orphan know that Shields was after him, and that the sheriff was no
man to be taken lightly when he had shown mercy near the big bowlder? The
outlaw must be fair and square, reasoned the sheriff, else he would not
have looked for those qualities in another, and least of all in an
enemy. The outlaw had given him plenty of chances to kill and had thought
nothing of it, time and time again turning his back without hesitation.
True, The Orphan had covered him when his hand had streaked for his
tobacco; but the sheriff would have done the same, because the movement
was decidedly hostile, and he had been fortunate in not having paid
dearly for his rash action. The Orphan had taken a chance when he
refrained from pulling the trigger.
Charley continued: "Jimmy's outfit swear they'll have a lynchin' bee to
square things for the Kid. They are plumb crazy about it. Jimmy was a
whole lot liked by them, and the foreman is going to give them a week
off with no questions asked. They are getting things ready now."
The sheriff turned to his companion, his hazel eyes aflame with anger
at this threat of lynching when he had given plain warning that such
lawlessness would not for one minute be tolerated by him.
"We'll call on the Cross Bar-8 first, Charley, and find out when this
lynching bee is due to come off," he said, turning toward the northwest.
Charley looked surprised at the sudden change in the plans, but followed
without comment, secretly glad that trouble was in store for the ranch he
had no use for.
After an hour of fast riding they rode up to the corral of the Cross
Bar-8, and Shields, seeing a cowboy busily engaged in cleaning a rifle,
asked for Sneed, at the same time making a mental note of the preparations
which were going on about him.
The foreman, as if in answer to the sheriff's words, walked into sight
around the corral wall and stepped forward eagerly when he saw who the
caller was.
"I see that you know all about it, Sheriff," he began, hastily. "I've
just told the boys that they can go out for him," he continued. "They're
getting ready now, and will soon be on his trail."
"Yes?" coldly inquired the sheriff.
"They'll get him if you don't," assured the foreman, who had about as much
tact as a mule.
"I'll shoot the first man who tries it," the sheriff said, as he flecked
a bit of dust from his arm.
"What!" cried Sneed in astonishment. "By God, Sheriff, that's a d----d
hard assertion to make!"
"And I hold _you_ responsible," continued the sheriff, leaning forward
as if to give weight to his words.
The cowboy stopped cleaning his rifle and stood up, covering the sheriff,
a sneer on his face and anger in his eyes.
"If you're a-scared, we ain't, by God!" he cried. "The Orphan has got
away too many times already, and here is where he gets stopped for good!
When we gets through with him he won't shoot no more friends of ourn,
nor nobody else's!"
Shields looked him squarely in the eyes: "If you don't drop that gun I'll
drop you, Bucknell," he said pleasantly, and his eyes proclaimed that he
meant what he said.
Sneed sprang forward and knocked the gun aside; "You d----n fool!" he
cried. "You ornery, silly fool! Get back to the bunk house or I'll make
you wish you had never seen that gun! Go on, get the h--l out of here
before you join Jimmy!"
Then the foreman turned to Shields, feeling that he had lost much through
the rashness of his man.
"Don't pay any attention to that crazy yearling, Sheriff," he said
earnestly. "He's only feeling his oats. But we only wanted to round him
up," he continued on the main topic. "We meant to turn him over to you
after we'd got him. He's a blasted, thieving, murdering dog, that's what
he is, and he oughtn't get away this time!"
"You keep out of this, and keep your men out of it, too," responded
Shields, turning away. "I mean what I say. Jimmy started the mess and
got the worst of it. I'll get The Orphan, or nobody will. As long as I'm
sheriff of this county I'll take care of my job without any lynching
parties. Come on, Charley."
"Deputize some of my boys, Sheriff!" he begged. "Let 'em think they're
doing something. The Orphan is a bad man to go after alone. The boys are
so mad that they'll get him if they have to ride through hell after him.
Swear them in and let them get him lawfully."
"Yes?" retorted Shields cynically. "And have to shoot them to keep them
from shooting him?"
"By God, Sheriff," cried Sneed, losing control of his temper, "this is
our fight, and we're going to see it through! We'll get that cur, sheriff
or no sheriff, and when we do, he'll stretch rope! And anybody who tries
to stop us will get hurt! I ain't making any threats, Sheriff; only
telling plain facts, that's all."
"Then I'll be a wreck," responded Shields, still smiling. "For I'll stop
it, even if I have to shoot you first, which are also plain facts."
Sneed's men had been coming up while they talked and were freely voicing
their opinions of sheriffs. Sneed stepped close to the peace officer and
laughed, his face flushed with foolish elation at his strength.
"Do you see 'em?" he asked, ironically, indicating his men by a sweep of
his arm. "Do you think you could shoot me?"
The reply was instantaneous. The last word had hardly left his lips before
he peered blankly into the cold, unreasoning muzzle of a Colt, and the
sheriff's voice softly laughed up above him. The cowboys stood as if
turned to stone, not daring to risk their foreman's life by a move, for
they did not understand the sheriff's methods of arguments, never having
become thoroughly acquainted with him.
"You know me better now, Sneed," Shields remarked quietly as he slipped
his Colt into its holster. "I'm running the law end of the game and I'll
keep right on running it as I d----d please while I'm called sheriff,
understand?"
Sneed was a brave man, and he thoroughly appreciated the clean-cut
courage which had directed the sheriff's act, and he knew, then, that
Shields would keep his word. He involuntarily stepped back and intently
regarded the face above him, seeing a not unpleasant countenance, although
it was tanned by the suns and beaten by the weather of fifty years. The
hazel eyes twinkled and the thin lips twitched in that quiet humor for
which the man was famed; yet underlying the humor was stern, unyielding
determination.
"You're shore nervy, Sheriff," at length remarked the foreman. "The boys
are loco, but I'll try to hold them."
"You'll hold them, or bury them," responded the sheriff, and turning to
his companion he said: "Now I'm with you, Charley. So long, Sneed," he
pleasantly called over his shoulder as if there had been no unpleasant
disagreement.
"So long, Sheriff," replied the foreman, looking after the departing pair
and hardly free from his astonishment. Then he turned to his men: "You
heard what he said, and you saw what he did. You keep out of this, or
I'll make you d----d sorry, if he don't. If The Orphan comes your way,
all right and good. But you let his trail religiously alone, do you hear?"